The Last Queen
by Hocloco
Summary: It is years after the Reaper War. Palaven is in ruins. Garrus has cultivated a relationship with neighboring K'OrSachea to help both planets. But Queen Grace wants more than friendship, and they are both caught up in political intrigue. The story is complete in six chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

… Running…

It was dark, and the rain was coming harder… a flash of lightening let her see where she was, but only for a moment. _Nearing the trees, and, oh good, there's the fountain. I'll hide behind there for a moment. He doesn't know the layout… ok that was stupid, of course he does, he would have investigated the lay of the grounds from his first days here. Still, maybe he doesn't know how far I've run, maybe I've lost him._

He had lost her, but only visually. He could still smell her. His visor showed him her heat trail, close enough he could see her breathe in the cool air. The rain wouldn't hide it, just as the rain wouldn't wash away her scent. He could hear her heart when he was close enough, pounding fitfully in her chest. He knew she feared him, and that was wise, but he was certain that it was for the wrong reason. He had no intention of hurting her, only of impressing upon her certain truths. What she should fear more than anything was that she might not be completely aware of all the repercussions of having provoked a full-grown male turian into an all out mating-challenge, the outcome of which would affect her for the rest of her days. He was, in fact, sure of that.

The Queen-Elect stopped at the fountain, and quickly tried to control her breath, tried to be still, tried to focus on what exactly was the plan, and knew there was none. She'd played in these gardens all her childhood, trying to get in as much pretending with her imaginary friends as she could before being called in for the next session of endless lessons, tedious and painful for a child. Her friends, as invisible as they were, still held her more closely in their hearts than any of her tutors and mentors, task masters and drill sergeants. She could pretend these friends that only she could see loved her, cared for her, cared about her and did not care about the embarrassing accident of her birth. But try as they might, none of her childhood playmates could remind her where to go next. The garden was walled in. When she'd kicked him—the chimera-looking being called a turian—in the face, her frustration overwhelming her, she had not expected him to give chase. He had been so completely cool toward her for so long that she truly believed he would simply write her off and leave, going back to his suite as he always did. All her best efforts to get his attention, to make him aware of her feelings for him, had been utterly wasted. While the treaty she had brokered was hugely beneficial for both of their planets, hers getting the turians' vast military expertise in righting her planetary defenses, his the technological advancements and raw materials that they needed to recover from what they had called the "Reaper" attack, this personal relationship that she had tried so hard to kindle was an embarrassing waste of time, and her heart was broken for it.

But Garrus did not back off, nor did he retire to his suite. Instead, he growled. Literally. Long, deep, reverberating in his chest, echoing off the hard stone walls. And in that instant Gracie knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that she had kicked a lion in the face. A three hundred pound, six and a half foot tall lion with a genius level I.Q. A lion that just happened to walk on his hind legs. It was such a stark, terrifying juxtaposition from the melodic, hypnotic voice that he normally used when he was with humans that it hit her like a bucket of ice water. It screamed alarms at every human instinct she possessed, telling her in no uncertain terms that she was in a closed room with a large, dangerous animal… with teeth… and speed. And though she had in fact gotten lucky enough to catch him so off guard, and in the perfect spot under his right mandible, right where his corrective cybernetics were implanted, and successfully tip him over a table so that he was thrown off balance just long enough, and just perfectly enough, that she knocked him to the ground, he was still on his way back up as she turned and ran, panicked, for the only close exit, which was to the garden. She went over the balcony and through the nearest bushes as fast as she could go. Her years of training and familiarity with the garden helped her, but only for a short while. She had some distance from him, but he was fast. Unreasonably fast for a creature his size. It was with some sinking dread that she realized that if she had gotten away, or away this far, it was because he let her. And he let her because he knew that there was no way out of this garden, save back the way she came.

_Give her a little room, let her get passed the worst of her fear, then move closer. _He would only approach when he could be reasonably certain that his presence wouldn't instill irreparable terror in her. Garrus knew he had scared her, he had done it on purpose for her own safety. She had managed to piss off an alpha bull turian, literally kicking him in the face and knocking him to the floor, and instinct had seized him before he could stop it. Now that he had his bearings and better understood the situation, he relaxed, and wanted her to as well, or at least, as much as possible, given the situation. She was, after all, trapped.

Yes, he did in fact know the garden was walled in, and he would not let her get passed him and back into the palace. He would give chase toward the back of the verdant landscape, back to where he would have the privacy he needed. The female was physically able to accept him, he was fully aware of that, had confirmed this through research. He further reflected on something his old commander, John Shepard had said once, and if anyone would know, it was Commander Shepard… _"Asari, human… where sex is concerned, I can say first hand that, at least down there, where it counts, there is NO difference." _And Garrus had personal friends and acquaintances who had Asari mates. If a turian can mate an Asari, a turian can mate a human.

He had always known this. And so when he had accepted this assignment to this lost human civilization called K'OrSachea, and subsequently become increasingly aware of the interest that the young Queen-Elect had in him, he had found himself pleased with the knowledge. He had not wanted to inspire feelings in her that would lead them down a dead end road from a practical standpoint. He had no reason to feel revulsion or disinterest in this small, lovely creature… except that he had feared that she was not strong enough for him.

He had made advances, but they were met with demure acquiescence. This confused him. He had seen Gracie confront unruly and disrespectful commanders with strength and clarity. She refused to back down in the face of patronizing diplomats or inconsiderate ambassadors. She was unwavering in her demands for the rights and the considerations she pushed forward relentlessly for her people in the face of Elitists. She tirelessly negotiated for the sharing of available technologies, trade agreements, or machinery and resources that would help the turians. She had in fact put together this treaty for mutual assistance between Palaven and K'OrSachea, which had to have taken enormous courage. And yet, when he would come to her office and meet with her on any subjects other than governmental issues, she was sweet. Shy. And while he found it charming, and kept his council and watched his manners, he knew more each day that she was not strong enough for a physical relationship with him. And he dare not make any advances on her that might be misinterpreted by any onlooker. Rape or intimidation were absolutely out of the question, had not even entered his mind. Being a creature other than human, he did not know exactly how to court a human female or make her aware of his interest as well.

_That last problem had solved itself back in the palace, though. The signal was there…. The scent, the stare, the challenge… the hunt that she dared him to finish…._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Garrus was no fool. As he watched the media stories surrounding his people, carefully monitoring what the locals were saying about the small contingency of military advisors, and reading the speculations and even the fascinating fiction that was cropping up about them, he wondered where the humans were getting some of their ideas, some of which were beginning to border on obsession and hero worship. While it was true turians were militaristic, they were not sadistic. They were explorers and colonialists, but they were not pirates, or Viking-like, pillaging whatever they pleased. The fact that they were so similar to some things with which humans were familiar, and yet so different in other ways at the same time, gave rise to all sorts of speculation, wild fantasies, crushes and media interest by local celebrities. It pleased him to know that his people were working among these humans so well that the relationships between the races were peaceful and enthusiastic.

But the Primarch's Second-in-Command had not reached this pinnacle of his career for frivolous reasons. He was smart. He had contributed to several successful campaigns. His people had moved among alien cultures and societies for so many centuries that they had long since evolved senses and abilities that helped them to co-coexist, while at the same time preparing them for any defense that might be required. _Anyone who does not take the time to study an enemy is letting themselves in for one nasty surprise after another._ And while the turians might now be welcome, one unhappy incident between his people and these long-lost humans could just as easily end up as an interplanetary conflict.

So he moved carefully, biding his time. Waiting. But until now the signals he needed from her, such as signs of her physical strength, had not been there. She very nearly shrank from him. What was he to do? He had to treat her with the upmost respect, and he could not disgrace her in front of her people. So he let her be. That is until she would no longer allow it. She had approached him this night with an ultimatum: either he speak of his intentions toward her, or she would seek company with a palace guard. This he could not allow. She would disgrace herself with someone less deserving, someone who might try to make a spectacle of her for entertainment or financial gain. He'd stopped her exit. She had demanded to know the truth. When he told her he believed she was too weak for him to take physically and therefore excite him erotically, that his body literally would not allow him to mate a weak female for fear of hurting her, for Spirits sake, he was nearly twice her size… She had kicked him in the face. And that was just what he needed.

He stepped carefully toward the fountain, keenly aware of her scent. He recalled her words in the salon… "My people have condemned me to a life of either forced celibacy or a life as a secondary wife.. . a concubine… Tell me the justice in that, Garrus." She had been yelling at him by then, anger and frustration, humiliation and despair all congealing into a furious, protracted argument. He had never intended to cause her that much pain, never intended to hurt her or humiliate her.

"I'm a half-breed. From the day of my birth I've been looked down on. I am a Queen-Elect because of my mother's station and the order of ascension, but I'll never be able to marry a K'OrSachean because my father is a Mirrorian. Only a pure K'Orsk who will potentially produce a pure blood child is acceptable as a wife. I'll only ever be fit as a third-, maybe second-wife. A concubine. Because I'm not a pure K'Orsk.

"I arranged this treaty for the good of our worlds. The treaty, the help it's providing our peoples, the advancements for us both… " Her gaze drifted away as she tried once again to fight back tears. And again, she failed. "But I had no idea that I would have feelings for you, for pity's sake, you are as alien as anything I've ever seen… "

She stopped and looked down at the ornate rug without really seeing it. "I know I'm talking in circles. There isn't any reason for you to have any interest in me whatsoever. It defies logic. But I do have feelings for you. Heaven forbid, I just couldn't help it. But you won't even look at me. I do what your people say I should do, and you do nothing." She looked up, then, angrier still. "So I came here to tell you that I have feelings, and you say you don't. Ok. I'll find someone else, but you won't let me leave." She started shouting again. "What gives you the right?!"

That had been a strange thing for her to say… _"what your people say I should do… "_

"What does that mean," he had asked, 'What MY people say…?'"

She shouted even louder at that… "They told me you expect me to be submissive. Nice. Girlish. Virginal. Believe me, I choked on that, but I have tried. It didn't work. Nothing worked. I sent my secretaries to talk to your secretaries, and all I ever heard back were the same instructions. Nothing more. What do you want?"

"Strength, Gracie. Strength. I know that you are strong in other ways, but I am turian, full-grown. I cannot take a female who does not possess the strength required to be a mate. And how do I approach you with this discussion, how do I humiliate a queen, how do I shame a woman who depends on her strength, and the perception of that strength, in order to rule? When I've approached you, you've become shy. You send out these mixed messages. You seem interested, but when I come near you retreat. How do I begin to understand these things?"

"That's what they said you wanted!"

_Why would my people say this? _

She filled his senses now. The kick to the head had been all he needed to push him over the edge. He was not angry. Rather, he was pleased, relieved, excited. She was strong enough for him. If it took kicking him to make that much clear, so be it. He should have tried harder to get to her but, like his own staff, hers had turned him away on many occasions, saying she was too busy to meet with him. It seemed to him that people from both camps had an interest in keeping them apart; making sure they never worked out the kinks of this fledgling attraction.

Garrus stalked silently closer to the fountain, the quiet music of the water and the ebbing rain masking almost all of the sounds from her lovely body. _Female_. Different from turian females, but similar in enough ways to delight his imagination. He knew the feel of _female_. He had known lovers. Female bodies were meant to satisfy males, as males were made to satisfy their females as well. Those interesting situations in which a male was attracted to a male, or likewise a female to a female held no interest for him, but neither did they offend him. Nature worked mysteriously, and it was not for him to have an opinion one way or another. He simply knew that, as far as his interests were concerned, he preferred female.

Garrus was at his core what his military buddies had referred to as a hetero. A man's man. And the studies that he'd dedicated to this very night, to this meeting, told him that his body and Grace's, though different in some major ways, were similar in the areas that would make this encounter not only possible, but promised to be hugely gratifying. He had wanted it, oh yes… but if he started, he would finish. Once he knew that she wanted him, wanted his mating, she could not stop him. No one could have.

He was primal now. Quiet. All senses on the alert. He knew exactly where she was, behind the fountain, the soft grass masking any sounds his big feet might make. He could smell her body, hear her quickened breathing, and sense her pounding heart. Her fear was abating, and beneath that fear he could detect again the scent of her desire for him. She couldn't hide it. She might try to deny it, but it was there.

_What do I do now? _She closed her eyes and tried to focus on something—anything—besides the overwhelming need to run… anywhere… She had watched Garrus for months, listened to his lovely, deep, comforting, breathy voice, grown to trust him, shiver when he turned those blue eyes her way. She had become fascinated with him, his easy flowing strength, his grace in spite of his size, his competence with his people and with hers. Even watching him on the fields as he guided joint exercises, provided instruction with the various weaponry with which he was nothing less than the consummate professional. He was highly respected. Taller than average turians and most humans, he was physically impressive. He inspired trust.

_And he was gone._ In his place was this huge, stalking beast that looked, now more than ever, like a lion, or raptor, or a huge, powerful man… and all three at once… A predator twice her size, crazy angry with her, stalking her, growling venomously like a big cat. What had he said, back in the salon? _Believe what I say, female, what you have started, I will finish. _What did that mean? He meant to tear her throat out with that mouth full of fangs? She'd only seen them once, and she was certain that it had been accidental on his part. Like the habit he had of using his sultry voice, he held his mouth mostly closed to mask those teeth and to keep humans relaxed around him. If he advertised those teeth… _fangs_… people would have broken and run in terror. Or did he intend to shred her with those razor-sharp talons that he usually kept carefully ensconced in protective gloves? Or lift her by the throat and strangle her with those double-muscled arms, powered by the extra musculature and sinew across his broad chest.

She heard the slightest noise, a rustle of leaves, a subtle shift of wind, and she felt herself believe that he had found her… _he is close_….. She gathered courage to speak, though it pained her to hear the quiver in her voice. She hated more than anything to sound weak, and now she doubly feared that sounding afraid might inflame him further. Still, cornered, she had no options. A queen to the bone, she would do whatever she had to do in order protect her people. If she had antagonized this representative of an alien world into killing her, shredding her, tearing her to pieces, both their worlds would be thrown into an irretrievable chaos. "Garrus, I'm sorry." She waited, no answer. For a moment she thought he might have left and returned to the palace. _I only imagined he was here….._ A tiny useless hope, quickly crushed.

Garrus answered. The Garrus she'd listened to for months, the Garrus that she'd quite literally and painfully fallen in love with. "You desire me." The words came slowly, low almost to being imperceptible, but at the same time filling her head, musical, a low seductive song. The water playing over the fountain added to the soothing quality. "And I desire you, Grace. You have shown me what I needed. You are strong, strong enough for me to take." A long pause, then from another direction… "And believe me, that is what I will do."

A weird combination of excitement and literal fear flooded through her. She felt dizzy. "What…?" Finally, she managed to get the air in her lungs to travel up, make a voice. "You think I want you now? Are you crazy?"

"I can smell your desire, smell it through the rain, through your clothes, through your small lies... Say what you need to relieve your fear, but there is no hiding the scent of your heat…" His joy, his animal need, his aching desire were singing through his veins. The signals were there. He knew he had frightened her with his growl, but there was no stopping it when it had escaped his chest. He was surprised by her, and he had to warn her off until he could assess what was truly happening, especially since it was so utterly out of character for her. But when he had collected his thoughts, understood that she was angry with his, albeit unintentional, disregard for her anger, he knew. This was all she had to show him that she was strong enough, and that she was finished with all the obstacles, and if he was such an idiot that a kick to the side of the head was what it took to get the point across, then that's what she would do.

And that's what she did. And it wasn't clear to her until now why she had. He'd been standing there telling her that she was weak. Read: incompetent, stupid, lame, limp, useless… and she didn't fucking need that from him, not one more criticism. Not one more condemnation. Not one more rejection. And according to all the information she had read, there really wasn't anywhere on his body or his face that she could punch or slap that would make any impression on him whatsoever. But she did know how to kick box. And she did know that at either side of his face, just behind his mandibles, a turian male was vulnerable.

_But now… what…. ? He can smell me? He knows I want him? How the hell do I hide that? _The only response she could think of would sound idiotic if she said it out loud. "What makes you think I want you? I mean, after I stood in the salon screaming at the top of my lungs that I was pissed at you for ignoring me?" She was mute. She'd brought this on herself. She'd thrown gas on that fire. Thrown it with all her strength. And it was here to burn her.

Still, honestly, what had she awakened? The sound of his voice, his demeanor, the trust he inspired had led her to a conclusion that the last half hour had painfully shown her was incorrect: Garrus was not a sweet, over-grown puppy. He was a dyed-in-the-wool predator, a trained killer with heaven knows how many ended lives in his past; lives that he snuffed out without a glance back. Not rampant, not indiscriminant, and somehow that was even more frightening and deadly. He calculated, measured, tested the wind, humidity, temperature, and sent death with surgical accuracy. Then he watched, detached, as his equipment told him his victims' hearts had stopped beating. He was an Alpha among Alphas, huge, powerful, smart. A blue-blooded sniper, weapons expert and adept at hand-to-hand combat, as well as a variety of knives and swords. As if he needed them. If he were completely naked, he still had size, speed, strength, reach, a mouth full of fangs and talons waited at the ends of his powerful arms and legs. Turians were fighters, and he was at the top of his game.

And he had chosen her for mate. He was only waiting until he could claim her without causing undue fear.

And she had chosen him. Screamed at him because he had not delivered. Kicked him, then forced him to give chase to prove himself.

Until now they had missed each other in polite conversation and misunderstanding.

But no more. The dizziness was being slowly replaced with the gnawing realization that she did in fact want him. Badly. Badly. Hungrily. He was as male as a creature could be. His size, the strength of him, the sound of him… Male…. Her body answered the ancient howl… Her body ached for him… To be pierced with his heat and penetrated, tasted, touched… loved… wanted…. Needed…..

_There it is… that lovely scent… flowers, raw meat, hunger, desire, female, which is life itself…_ _this chase is ended… I will have you… _

Carefully he bent, picked up a random stone, tossed it to the far end of the fountain, and stepped to the side closest. The very gentle capture went as he had pictured it in his mind. That was what made him so good at everything he did. He was able to mentally map out his actions, then play them out in reality, executing precision and grace without hesitation. The lovely female was his. She need not fear any longer. He would be her mate, and she his.

There she was, tall, beautiful, her subtle, exotic Mirrorian markings around her face and down her breast bone, long black hair wet from the soft rain. She had heard the sound at the left wall of the high fountain, and leapt right in surprise. He had caught her easily, lifting her light as air and putting her flat on her back on the wet grass before she even fully registered the movement. He held her down, hand on her chest, one knee between her legs to keep her from any successful attempt to struggle away. It was important that she not hurt herself against him. Blue eyes took her in, slowly appraising her face, her body, her large dark eyes. _Whether human, turian, Asari…_ _Female is female_. Being a creature who could comprehend and appreciate beauty in its many forms, Garrus saw her for what she was: a lovely human woman, soft, deserving of respect and care. This was a holy place, a place where life grew, though he was fully aware that it could not be a life that he might place there. But all the same, her body held a promise of delicious sensations, wetness, tightness, grasping need only for him, thrusting into deep, satisfying warmth… He breathed her in, the chemistry of her needs hitting his brain with quiet, desperate hunger. His turian body was now finally able to throw aside its throttle that kept him in check, keeping him from being drawn to a weak female who could not withstand his strength.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Blue eyes opened lazily. He heard his guard at the bedroom door, heard the dismissive reply given to the housekeeper who felt she should be able to enter the room and tend to the Queen-Elect. But Gavorn was quietly and dependably dismissing her.

"The Primarch's Second and the Queen-Elect wish to not be disturbed at this time."

Exasperated huff, stomping down the hall, slammed door. The housekeeper was gone. There was a reason Gavorn was chosen as a personal aide. He was calm. Smart. Reliable.

The _Second_, even though obviously not of the same station as the Primarch himself, was always guarded, especially while on alien ground, just as he was always well armed. When he was at his most vulnerable, during sleep, during sexual arrangements, few as those were for an individual of his status, an armed guard was posted at each point of entry to the room. This day, his first in his mate's quarters, was no different, except that her staff were completely oblivious to the regulations and procedures until they were confronted with the guards. Garrus was beginning to get a sense that those individuals who had sought to keep them separated would soon show themselves in their actions on this morning.

Grace St. Clair Chehada, fifteenth Queen-Elect of K'OrSachea, stirred quietly in her sleep. Stretched. Lovely. Garrus thought back to the vision of her on the ground beneath him the night before. Eyes wide in surprise, the look of fear almost immediately replaced with a wordless question, then desire. She'd started to say something, then stopped. He felt her relax beneath his hand. The rain had stopped, the warm evening was quiet. The wet grass smelled sweet. He knew that the ground was too hard for her to take his weight comfortably, and he wanted her to always recall thoughts of him and their consummation of this union with fondness, not difficulty. He rose, then carefully and effortlessly picked her up, and carried her to her bedchamber.

The memory was a blur until they were in bed, and then all was clear. The bed was large, the sheets soft, though frankly they would have been wasted on him. His skin, for the most part, was not as sensitive as hers. She lay in the bed on her back, fully naked, and watched with quiet intensity as this alien creature revealed himself to her.

She had no idea what to expect, and had imagined in varying degrees anything from slightly non-human to almost literally bug-like, but he was not as far from what she was programmed to relate to as identifiably male as she had tried to speculate. Tall, broad shoulders, narrow waist, strong legs. Those secondary male signals, his spurs, were now unsheathed, quite like polished bone, but not edged or sharp. Not dangerous if she bumped against them. But the major differences in his body and a human man's were their coverings, his had gleaming skin which she realized was actually very nearly reflective. Protective plates, thicker and broader at the base of his neck and the top of his back, went all the way down his spine. No nipples, turians weren't milk secretors. The doubled-muscles across his chest were broad, and his arms were strong, extra muscles accommodating the three powerful digits. He walked on his toes like a big cat. Graceful. Skin looked tough, but not scary. His upper body strength was obvious, and long hours holding and working with heavy guns and equipment must have added to that.

She tried hard not to look at his groin, tried not to be obvious or girlish, tried to prepare herself to not be afraid of what she saw…. In her fantasies he was an ideal, exotic and exciting. Reality was about to present itself, and she was mentally stopped in her tracks in indecision. What was there, what did he have to offer her as a lover? Something truly alien, something scary, something disappointing, pointed, sharp, snaky, scaly... ?

It was none of those things. If a cock could be beautiful, his was. It was so dark blue it was nearly black, thick, and already very hard. _Large._ It was streaked with the shiny skin he had elsewhere, almost tattooed-like in decoration. Grace wondered if the markings were an evolutionary answer to a display behavior that the turians had. Did the markings mean something to other males, or to females? She could literally see the pulse. Ridges ran down the shaft. He carried his testicles against his body, not free-hanging like a human male.

She looked back at his face. His neck was thick. His face, which would have been the most prominent feature exposed to the intense Palaven sun, was the roughest, and next was the skin on the tops of his shoulders. The roughness tapered down to nearly smoothness on areas that wouldn't have been damaged by UV rays or other solar radiation. The ice-blue eyes were direct, gentle and intelligent, but sharp and incisive as lasers.

He approached her and carefully placed a hand on the bed near her head, and leaned on a powerful arm, his face hovering above her. He looked at her gently, intensely, for a long moment. "Don't be afraid of me. I know how to do this. I won't hurt you." The long black hair had fallen in a halo around her head, the pale skin of her heart-shaped face accentuated with the Mirrorian markings at the edges and forming a small peak at the top of her hairline. They flowed down the edges of her face, then were sprinkled on her shoulders and down between her perfect, firm breasts. A combination of small stripes and spots, in some places the distinctive Mirrorian markings looked almost like tattoos of flowers with their designs, feminine and exotic. Her dark eyes were flecked with green and gold, small fangs peeked from under her upper lip. Otherwise she appeared completely human with long, strong limbs, firm and athletic body… strangely painted fingernails, though those were pretty, too. _Some female ritual to advertise her beauty to her male, no doubt._ He tried to appreciate them for a moment, realizing she had probably done this at least partly for his benefit, though he was not programmed to respond to most of the signals that a human woman gave out. But those things that he was programmed to home in on were unmistakable. Those spoke to him insistently, loudly and with great intensity, like his appreciation for that small patch of fur at the apex of her strong legs, which was at the gates of that place that was calling him and turning him into an animal, panting with anticipation. Asari and turians did not possess that little patch of decoration that humans did, but right here, right now it only added to the spicy exotic taboo of her.

He stopped for a moment, a thought invading his mind that he could not turn away. It took his breath in its incredible implication. He was about to thrust himself deeply into a creature not of his own kind, had in fact plunged headlong into this odyssey as though very nearly starved for it. An act that only a few centuries earlier on Palaven would have gotten him a sentence very like what the human's called drawing and quartering. This was bestial. Shameful. An abomination.

But hard as he tried, he could not find the thing about her that was supposed to repel him. She was honorable, intelligent, kind, beautiful. She was actually able to make him laugh with more regularity than anyone he'd met since John Shepard had died. She was a delightful person, and he respected her immensely. She had worked tirelessly to help his people overcome the crippling damage the Reapers had left behind, sending mining equipment, industrial nutrition replicators, medical synthesizers, engineers and specialists, and whatever else she could spare. The K'OrSachean technology, inherited from an extinct race called the Zeeni, was impressive, and had so far been adaptable in some pretty amazing ways to turian needs and physiology. Already she had helped save thousands, hundreds of thousands if the future generations were taken into account. Her people respected and loved her, too; the Commoners, that is, the ones that the Elitists despised in spite of their careful speeches to the contrary.

What gripped him most about her was that Garrus could feel the painful loneliness in her, watched her all the long nights she worked hour after hour as she tried to pull away the suffocating layers of rhetoric and antiquated law that had been kept in place for centuries. The Elitists were trying to keep their feet planted firmly on the necks of the Commoners, and she was trying to pry them off. Garrus knew loneliness. It had been his constant companion for most of his tumultuous life.

The dark room was cool, the sheets soft beneath her skin. He rose slightly, hovering over her carefully on strong arms, and moved his face slowly, purposefully down her body, tongue gently stopping at a nipple, a curve, the crook of an arm, always softly purring to her in a deep rumble. Finally he arrived at the tiny spot of fur, and she felt him lift her leg to get at her. The warmth of his tongue separated her soft lips and explored her, first gently, then deeply with long, slow strokes into her, and suddenly she realized that she was coming. She couldn't have stopped it if her life had depended on it. She came quickly and breathlessly into his mouth, and he purred a bit louder for a moment in approval. He was now intimately familiar with her anatomical roadmap, and yes, indeed, they were compatible…. no question about it, this was going to be enormously satisfying. He lifted himself above her again, and took an arm and turned her back to him. Deep penetration for the first time would be easier for her from behind. Taking her from the front as many humans liked, at least according to what the research had told him, would come later, once she had gotten used to him. He smelled her wetness, the taste of her still on his tongue, salty delicious, heavy and saturated with hormones and need. He'd needed to make sure she was wet and ready before he consummated this union. He knew he wouldn't … couldn't… stop until he had all he wanted.

He lifted her hips to him, supporting her with one powerful arm, supporting himself above her back with the other, aching to plunge. His natural lubrication, along with hers, would ensure that there would be no tearing, but nonetheless, he had to be careful this first time. He bent over her, and she felt hot breath on her back, on her neck, near her face. He smelled delicious, strange, spicy warm. He was panting with his need by now, sounding as though he were almost actually in pain. He feared he might lose consciousness; sometimes a literal side-effect to a turian male's first bond-climax. He didn't want to fall on her, crush her, but he could not hold back. He thought he would die if he didn't get his cock into her now, begin the hungry, urgent thrusting. He found her, and pushed in one steady thrust into her. The pleasure seized him, and now it was his turn to feel dizzy, literally almost weak with the sensation. _Spirits, if I die right here and now, I have found heaven…._ The heat of her, the impossible tight softness, grasping him, was absolutely overwhelming. He was astonished that something could feel like this. He came the first time then. He couldn't help it.

The first time she came was in his mouth, and she thought she'd died from ecstasy right then and there. But when he came inside her the first time, his hot seed spilling into her and down her legs, she could not get her head around the pleasure. She was swimming in sensations. His cock was big and, if she hadn't been wet and ready, it would have been painful. She had only ever imagined taking on that kind of ridged, hard thickness, but it slipped into her, on and on until she thought there could not possibly be room for more of him. His cock pushed out thoughts of anything else… until he came. The hot, tingling juices, more of that sweet spicy scent, and his hot breath as he panted with his ejaculation, all congealed into sensations that were threatening to completely overwhelm her. She thought she heard herself literally scream with this pleasure. And then she realized that the cum itself was generating feelings, warmth spreading through her and causing her to come again, ferociously. _Holy shit…_ She couldn't catch her breath it was so good.

Then he started to thrust, first slowly, then gaining momentum. Stopping a moment to readjust her, he resumed, holding her in place so that she was where he wanted her. He was utterly animal now, and she was nothing but an object to provide him with pleasure. He ground into her, hard, growling low each time he came, more of his cum causing her to orgasm wildly around him. He relished that sensation, the soft needing grasp around him, and pursued it on and on. He had utterly lost the capacity to communicate in anything but the growls, and he did not care. The slender body beneath him was warmth, tightness, wetness, delightful in its helplessness around him. He heard her cry out, whimper, scream once, but it was as though from a distance that he heard it. It was not cruelty that drove him, but the ache in his body, his back, his loins, demanding him to push his seed into her hard. That she was human and would never have a child from him quicken within her was of no relevance. His body did not register that, only that the hungry need be satisfied.

At some point he needed to see her, and turned her over onto her back. She was light as a leaf, wet with sweat and his juices, delicious and open and sweet. He moved over her gently. As strong as he was, and as much as his strength translated his need, Garrus was by his very nature gentle. In war, he was fearless and deadly, never reckless, always quick, strong, cunning. Away from the things of war, he was gentle. He did not need violence for its own sake; it was simply that he was strong enough to do what was necessary when it was needed. He propped himself over her, opening her legs wide and moving a hand under that hard curve of her butt bone, and slipped himself into her in one steady thrust to the hilt.

Grace threw her head back, arching her body up to him. She was as animal as he, nothing but a hot throbbing cunt around him, wide open for him, letting all of him in. He stopped a moment, took his hand from her back, and captured both of her hands above her head and pinned her to the bed, holding her down. It was a purely turian act, because a turian female had talons that would have ripped his back, or face, or chest to shreds in her ecstasy. Somewhere in his head, he knew this female was harmless, but turian instinct guided this, and he needed to do it. And she loved it. She couldn't have said why, but to be captured, held down, and pleasured to the very limits of her capacity by this strong, proud, remarkable creature who she completely trusted was pure, unadulterated ecstasy, and she felt quite literally that she could not get enough of him.

He plunged on, driving her deep into the soft bed as he pushed inside her. He watched her as he slid in, pulled out, slipped back harder this time, slower next, feeling the soft flesh part around him. He sighed in pleasure with each push. _Beautiful. Delicious. His… _

When finally he pulled carefully out of her, ultimately giving in to fatigue, he slowly laid down beside her on the bed. She was covered in sweat and trembling. Her entire lower body ached with his use of her. The throbbing was on the verge of painful. She moved a hand down there, and found a bit of blood, though not a lot. She was, after all, out of practice where sex was concerned, having been worried of the possibility of a secretly chosen lover selling the story to the media for a quick buck. So the last time she'd been with a man, it had been with a body guard back in the academy, when no one was looking. He was tall, handsome, and utterly terrified of being with her, terrified he'd fail, terrified that he'd get in trouble for doing this, though obviously not enough to not attempt it. It was a pretty uncomfortable, clumsy affair. Any sex she got after that was purely through her own hands.

Later…. She had no idea when she had fallen asleep or for how long, but she was awakened by lightening. The rain storm had returned. She looked over at Garrus in the low light of the room, and saw nothing but an outline. Then in another flash of lightening, she saw his eyes were open, watching her steadily, almost unblinking. She was suddenly uncomfortable under that gaze.

"How long have I been asleep?" She tried to sound conversational, but it was difficult. He'd just been inside her body and abused her with pleasure that was still causing her to twitch and ache at the thought. She felt vulnerable, exposed, weak, but also deeply satisfied, gratified by him and his attention. Possibly that was what love was about. Letting herself be herself, without feeling the constant aching shame that had been her constant companion for most of her life.

"Forty-three minutes, sweetness." Always exacting. Attention to every detail. That was Garrus.

She smiled. He wasn't entirely sure why, but it was welcome. Humans did that all the time, made gestures and tried to initiate conversations for no apparent reason at all. He did not mind, but he was keenly aware that humans sometimes thought he was cool, impolite, and even blunt when he did not respond in kind. He tried to think of a bit of conversation, but each thing he thought of bringing up, from an item in their surroundings to the weather, seemed embarrassingly trite at the moment. He had just bonded his life to hers, shared pleasures with her, body and soul, and what he was really thinking was… _Thank the Spirits for this one night. For letting it come to me in my life before it was over…. For letting me know this woman and the sweetness that came with her..._

Human sex had turned out to be a blissfully heady and fantastic experience. The difference between this female and a turian was the difference between slaughtering your own meat, dressing it, cooking it, and eating it rather than having it simply delivered warm and delicious on a plate. Aside from the minor and insignificant blow to his face and the short, symbolic chase, there was no blood, no endurance test. No proving his strength, his worthiness, his prowess. Simply having it offered, and taking it. He suddenly felt a gush of guilt for that vulgar thought that had risen, unbidden. He pushed it away, silently ashamed for disrespecting both species and both kinds of females, although guilt was frankly an alien concept to him for the most part. Guilt was reserved for those piercing, agonizing memories of losing his squad on Omega, for not being fast enough to avoid being too wounded to follow Commander Shepard onto the Reaper ship and dying beside him as duty demanded. But he didn't let those memories invade this holy place now. She had invited him into her bed, her body, her world, he had accepted the call. And he would do so respectfully.

They had showered, and then she had called the kitchen to have food delivered. Although he did require liquids in some quantity, and especially tonight, Garrus didn't want anything else, having eaten just three days ago, and wouldn't need nourishment for another two. That humans needed to eat almost constantly was a subject of several turian jokes, not all of them kind. Grace ate when it arrived, and then went back to the bed and laid down, not knowing if he would join her. Again, she fell into a deep, nearly trance-like sleep, and didn't stir until morning.

Garrus did not immediately return to their bed. He tapped a monitor in the room, ensured that his guard and aides knew where he was, though he really had no doubt they had been discreet witnesses to the entire sequence of events leading up to his carrying his mate to her room and shutting the door behind him. They had specific orders in advance not to interfere with him while he was with her. Whatever the outcome, none of them doubted the _Second's _ability to handle this situation, and would do so as he saw fit.

When he returned to her as she lay naked and soft in the sheets, she grumbled softly in her sleep. Garrus lay beside his new mate, his new _heartbeat, _as a turian would call a mate_, _watched the lightening through the window and listened to her breathing for the rest of the night, remembering, letting his mind wander across the years.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The lightning brought back a pain, unbidden. It was the unnatural light of the Reapers over London, marking in relentless agony the beginning of the end. He was running through the chaos, bringing up the rear, keeping the squad from ambush as they made their way forward. Then the wounding—_painful_-but he'd had worse and could keep going. He was sure of it. But as he tried to walk, he realized that, no, he was now more hindrance than help. His fellow squad members would get hurt or worse trying to help him. Damn, he should have been killed then, rather than endanger them. Garrus knew the drill. It was a hard lesson of war. _You can do more damage to the enemy by only wounding them. Then they are slowed as they try to help their comrades_.

And so he had gotten aboard the Normandy, shame eating him alive with every step. He should have been able to go with his commander. He should have seen it to the end.

The Spirits would not have it. And so he left, only to find himself on some uninhabited moon after the destruction of the Reapers. After repairs were completed, they moved on, using one of the hidden mass relays that the Illusive Man had secretly built throughout the galaxy, twins of the ones that had been damaged in the final conflict. As big a bastard as he had been, he had been an insightful bastard. He knew that they were too valuable to the human race not to duplicate.

Garrus went home.

Palaven was a wreck. The turians had been essentially blasted back very nearly to their stone age. It made perfect sense. If you're going to attack, take out the strongest first. Infrastructure was decimated, nearly all public facilities were wiped out, and to add insult to injury, the massive fires were doing further damage to the planet's already thin ozone layer. Hundreds who had survived the first attacks were now dying of exposure and starvation. The ships he had pulled back from the Reaper attack were coming home, and many of the war victims were able to move aboard them during the first days after the war, but there weren't enough for all.

And he was chosen as the Primarch's _Second_. There was no one else with enough contacts and experience to begin the long process of rebuilding. Though he did not know how to hold a hammer, he had to try to figure out how to help his people put their lives back together.

Through five long years he had struggled to find the resources and diplomatic contacts to get his people help. He pulled in every favor he had. He relocated many of his people to the moon where the Normandy had initially crashed, relocated many more to Tuchunka, that being a good mutually beneficial option since relations had been repaired, albeit shakily, between the turians and the krogan. But he knew it wasn't enough. The turians needed the population here at home if they were to continue to be a viable civilization. Scattering the people, losing the breeding populations and setbacks to the continuing struggle to reassemble the planetary infrastructure were all contributing to the dismantling of his home world. The turians would not become extinct, but if they were to ever return as the galaxy's powerhouse, it would be a while before it happened.

And at that low point was when the strange message had come to him from the slowly recovering space port research and travel center. They were searching for new asteroid belts, ice comets for water or metals, and anything else out there that might provide much needed resources.

The run down: two comets could be towed, providing approximately 45 million gallons of water, an iron ore asteroid had been located, though it was too far for mining to be feasible, and the ghost planet had shown up again on scans.

The ghost planet. Palaven had been watching that bizarre anomaly for centuries. They had written it off as a quasar, a recurring dust storm, solar flares from the neighboring solar system: essentially something weird but not worth chasing. Except that it was showing up with some regularity now. During one of those episodes when it got caught with its pants down it had in fact been confirmed as a planet. Then it disappeared again. And the last time it had appeared, one technician declared that he had heard some sort of technological emission from it, radio background noise, a signal, something… but he hadn't been able to confirm it.

Until that morning. The ghost planet had reappeared, long enough this time for Palaven to actually get enough of a bead on it to map an orbit. It was Earth-sized, in the Goldilocks zone, and there were definite signs not only of habitability, but also that it was in fact inhabited. Then it vanished again.

There was a possible habitable planet in the next solar system? This could be some very good news. Except that… it was already inhabited. Maybe. But why was it always vanishing? A planetary cloaking system? That was _very_ advanced. And very paranoid. If they realize that they're exposed now, how dangerous could they be? The good news was suddenly trying to turn into bad news, which he did not need.

Weeks passed as they watched the ghost planet. That particular spot in space had become a hot zone. Whoever they were, they might not be the sort of neighbors that wounded Palaven could resist, should invasion become a possibility.

Until one night when they did in fact make themselves known. A message was received. A female voice, quiet and authoritative, said that the K'OrSachean people wanted to explore a treaty arrangement with any neighboring solar systems in exchange for a possible sharing of technological information. To Garrus, that sounded like his neighbors might be in trouble. _Exchange… ? _ Whoever she was, she had no idea who might be listening to her, or what monster might be aroused by the call. A real sign of desperation, if she went ahead and got on the intercom anyway. Had they been attacked by the Reapers, too, the attack having been cloaked and so missed by the turians? And what exactly was it that she was doing that was so different from what Garrus was doing, which was trying to find help. She was just new to the neighborhood.

He had answered her. "This is Garrus Vakarian, _Second _to the Primarch, of the Turian home world, Palaven." And the exchange had begun.

Over the next several months, communications were exchanged as the two planets tried to understand each other's civilizations and intentions, trying to be friendly, trying not to be afraid, worried, offensive, desperate…

The K'OrSacheans were indeed a long lost colony of humans, having been taken from Earth several hundred years earlier by an extraordinarily advanced, though equally paranoid, race called the Zeenis. They had been taken as food animals and slave labor, along with a huge assortment of Earth's flora and fauna. At some point in their history, the humans had figured out the Zeenis' Achilles Heel: the worm-like creatures went into hibernation every ten years. These early humans had invaded the Zeenis sanctuaries and killed them, thus inheriting the planet. The human population had no idea that their home was cloaked until much later in their civilization and, when they did, they realized at the same time that the technologies, which they themselves had not actually built but inherited, were starting to fall apart. They were a highly advanced race, these humans, and had learned to repair and replace much of this exceptional technology. But they couldn't fix the planetary cloak. And they were also their own worst hindrance, isolation and a rigid governmental hierarchy contributing to a strange kind of advanced society that was also, disturbingly, antiquated.

At the same time as they were advancing as a civilization, the K'OrSacheans had been listening to the galaxy. They heard the turians, but couldn't understand them until the turians actually started to speak English in some of their transmissions. They listened to other civilizations for a bit, again, not understanding them. Finally, they heard Earth, and knew that they were the children of that planet.

So what Garrus was discovering as he talked to this woman, Queen-Elect Grace St. Clair Chehada, was that K'OrSachea was like a new Earth. They had in fact managed to elude the Reapers, whom he guessed the Zeenis had been hiding from, too. The plants and animals that the Zeenis had brought along with the humans had thrived. It made his heart sing, knowing that this place existed, had always been there, right under their noses.

The offer had been resources and technology exchanges. The treaties were sent back and forth by transmission, agreements were made, and reassurances were offered. A meeting would take place. Garrus was chosen without debate, taking into consideration the fact that he had lived and worked among humans for many years. He was accustomed to them and comfortable around them, and he in return was able to make them comfortable with him.

The _Second_ agreed. But the agreement was given with great reluctance. He truly felt that he could serve Palaven best at home, managing the logistics of several turian and off-world contractors with debris clearing, reclamation and reconstruction. But he simply wished to do what was necessary, one thing at a time, to get his planet back on its feet, and if the Primarch thought that this would be a productive endeavor, he would do his best to execute the mission to perfection. So he chose his staff, and he went to K'OrSachea with the caveat that he would return to Palaven within a year, once he had set up all the necessary support parameters that the contingency of turian delegates and advisors would need.

When he had arrived, Garrus was amazed by both the beauty and the stark dichotomy of the place. There were two distinct castes here, one that lived above ground in cities and on vast farms. These were the Commoners. That sounded distastefully racial to him, and it immediately put him on guard. The other caste lived underground in huge subterranean cities, protected from the elements, refined and pampered. Later he came to understand that the Elitists, who lived in the caves, were considered the masters of this planet, mandated by something called the Council, a small group of politicians who inherited their positions generation after generation. All were controlled to a limited extent by the Queen-Elect, who was both the mediator and, in several ways, the captive, of this system. She had the power of oversight and, to a limited extent, the power of veto, for one side or the other as befitted the majority. But he came to understand as well that it was in fact the Council that had final say. Her powers were limited and carefully controlled. But he also learned that Grace was essentially a Supreme Court in and of herself and, with legal expertise and a group of specialists at her command, and she was able to slowly erode the powers of the Council. Her family, the Chehadas had, in fact, been working to short-circuit the Elitist Council for centuries.

But this night and this encounter had changed the balance. He was not certain what she had meant by having been sentenced to either celibacy or a marriage that would degrade her status. Marriage to a _Second_, an individual of high-ranking military and strategic significance, albeit of a different species, was somehow preferable to marriage to one of her peers? Then again, these people didn't think of her as a peer if they refused to allow her to marry a member of her own caste without relegating her to a subservient position. What political undercurrent was at play here? Whatever it was, it was one that he had no interest in, frankly. Politics were meaningless except where they might affect the ongoing restoration efforts of Palaven. That did interest him.

He had in fact aligned himself with the individual with the most power in this government. And he had ensured beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were paired. He would do what was best, and what was necessary for his people. But by his actions this evening, her people had become his people, too. If he had mated a Queen, did that not make him a Queen's Consort? But then again, what power play had he stumbled into? That he might have been using her for the benefit of his wounded brothers and sisters was a hard thing to swallow, but he'd had no choice.

But what advantage did entangling him provide for her people?

_What next….. ? _


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Grace awoke peacefully, which was outlandishly out of the norm for her. She was accustomed to waking repeatedly during the night, worried, sick with dread and concern, fearful for whatever outcome might present itself next day. That was her life: expectations, consequences, demands. She had no life of her own. It was forfeit at birth by her station.

So to wake peacefully and without fear was an alien thing. She was confused for a moment. Garrus was next to her, sleeping as well. His long, slow breaths bathed her in warmth and that strange spicy-sweet scent he had, reminiscent of frankincense, eucalyptus and amber. Clean and comforting. He was snoring. No… no he wasn't. He was purring, low and quiet and almost imperceptibly deep. She was tucked up under his chin, and his right arm was protectively around her. They were both naked, utterly comfortable. On an island far away from anything real.

She did not want to move. Not ever. The memory of his body over her, his enormous weight and strength carefully in control so as to not hurt her, his cock inside her as far as he could get it, hard and hot and hungry, slamming with gentle and demanding strength, caused her heart to quicken with pleasure. _He was so good… So breathtakingly, unimaginably, ferociously… and at the same time so gentle… satisfying. How could a creature covered in such toughness be so monumentally erotic? _This was beyond logic. He was from a different planet, a different solar system, a different species, and yet their bodies met in this gleeful crash and melded together in such an orgasmic explosion that she suddenly was afraid in her very soul of ever losing him. Love for him wrapped itself around her fragile heart and threatened to literally stop it in dread.

_I love a lion. And it felt, oh heaven above; it felt like he loved me, too..._ But why exactly would he? And then, before she could pursue that channel of self-doubt, Grace realized she didn't care. It didn't matter to her what the logical beginning or ending this odyssey might have. She just wanted him. For however long or short, for a day or a thousand years. She wanted to be near him. For as long as it lasted. And when it was over, the memory would sustain her.

A sudden noise at the door jolted her to unwelcome reality. Her housekeeper, Josie, was trying to get in to wake her for her first meetings. But Gavorn was there, shooing her away. Grace wasn't sure why he would be there or take it upon himself to do that, but she found herself glad he did. In her station, Grace found it very hard to put aside any sense of responsibility or to let someone else take control. When it happened, it was a rare and happy moment.

Garrus heard his guard, too, and involuntarily was swept back through the memory of the previous evening's encounter, savoring each happy detail. Slowly, though, he let himself come back to the present. There would be many more nights like that. His female, his mate, _his heartbeat_, would come to his bed and they would share these pleasures for long years to come. He had denied himself such tenderness throughout the first years of his life. Duty and necessity had demanded it. Now, though, he'd gotten a taste of tenderness. And it made him hungry for more, desperate for it. He'd given all he had to the rest of the galaxy, lost friends, countrymen, and his beloved commander. This was his. He earned it. He deserved it. He would take it. This lovely creature was his mate, and he cared not from whence she had come or what species she happened to have been born into. She opened herself to him so sweetly, so completely, with such trust in the face of his urgent, relentless hunger. He had felt as though he might die if he didn't plunge into her, harder and harder until finally he reached the last of his great strength and he collapsed beside her, spent. And he knew in his great heart that he would kill to protect her and what they had from this day onward. He wasn't sure if she knew the full extent of his decision. Possibly she wouldn't know for years or decades. Hopefully it would never be a necessity. But if needed, he would kill or die for this sweetness, the first he had ever experienced in all his hard life.

Grace stirred slowly, moved gently toward him in this happy embrace. "Garrus… ?"

Blue eyes opened, lazy and contented… "Gracie…"

"As much as I hate to say it, I am actually supposed to be in a meeting. I'm already late. Can you let me up?"

"No. Absolutely not. I have you, and here's where you will stay." Though he knew he would release her. It would, however, be with reluctance. She would have to persuade him.

But at that moment, both of them were shocked to attention. Her Defense Minister, Jai-dim Kobel, began to literally bang on the door as though he intended to break it down. "Open this door!" He was shouting as though he needed to address half the nation with a broken microphone. "Open it! Open it now! Open it or I'll call the Royal Guard!" At the same time they could hear Gavorn, who was at least as imposing as Garrus, having been chosen specifically as a personal body guard to the Second-an individual who was in effect his own one-turian SWAT team-try not to hurt the little human and at the same time stop him from the intrusion that Garrus had forbidden.

In the interest of averting an interplanetary incident, Grace opened the door. She had reluctantly put on a robe before she did so, though for a long moment she contemplated opening the door completely naked just to embarrass the little pasty-faced troll. "Jai-dim ?" She stood in the doorway, blocking him from entering the room. "Why are you addressing your Queen-Elect in this manner?" She was nearly as tall as he, and stared him directly in the face unblinking.

Jai-dim stood for a second, uncertain. The half-bred idiot had never dared to meet him head on, Queen-Elect or not. Not really. She surely knew her base-born father kept her from being his equal. This went without saying. He just bowed to keep up appearances. Being an Elitist, Jai-dim was as he had always been, unflappably assured of his superiority to any inferior, be it a half-bred, a Commoner or an alien.

"The _Second_ is with you?" Jai-dim could just barely bring himself to say it. The half-bred had actually allowed that _thing _into her bedroom. Into her bed? Into…. Her? Was she truly that stupid?

"Uhm. Yes. Garrus is with me. I'll be in my morning meetings shortly. Can this not wait?"

Behind her, Garrus knew that this Jai-dim, whom he had never liked or trusted, was a major player in this attempt to keep them separated. It was clear, written all over his easily readable human face. The disgust that this human felt at the mention of Garrus was unmistakable. It had always been there, from the first time they had met. Jai-dim was one of the most sleazy and disreputable creatures of any race that he had met in a long time. But, having been appointed, both he and Grace were essentially stuck with him.

Nausea literally swept over Jai-dim. He could not speak for a long moment. "Yes, Highness." He was finally able to talk. "It can wait until you are in chambers." He left, and found himself almost running at the end of the hall, once he was out of sight. He had to find a privy, had to throw up… _The half-bred idiot still found a way to get herself laid by a giant cricket. _This was bad news. Very bad news. The turians were very popular with the Commoners. Just as the half-bred idiot was popular. This would not do. These tiny minds could not think for themselves, could not govern themselves, could not be allowed to do as they pleased. This had to stop.

The meeting had not gone well. Whatever business needed to be discussed had been pushed to the background. Jai-dim had launched onto the floor in his outrage.

Grace was baffled. Why did the Council care? She hadn't disgraced any upstanding Elitist.

Oh, no. She was a member of the royal household; she was supposed to have known that it was a treaty action. That this was impossible. They were not the same species. This was abomination.

Grace was outraged. _We shall put this to vote_.

No, we shall not. By ancient K'OrSachean law, handed down by those who broke the Zeeni crypts, the rule belonged to the Elites, the Ones Who Liberated All. The Commoners, the ones who were relegated to life outside the caves: farming, factory life, maintenance and servitude to the Elites, could not rule. They could have only the most specific of responsibilities and education only as high as and as specialized as their professions needed. They did not have valid arguments. They were too simple, had to be cared for. To ask them to vote was cruel.

And it was treason for even a Queen to say otherwise.

She leapt to her feet at that. "Are you insane! Are all of you so monumentally crazy as to think that these people, these Commoners as you so ungraciously call them, are children, simple-minded peasants, villagers, half-wits that require your care? They are scientists, engineers, scholars, geneticists, and teachers. But you wouldn't know that because you so carefully separate yourselves from them. They are parents, and they are children, and they are elderly. And they all have hearts, and souls, and minds that are free in spite of the bonds of their daily lives. They work tirelessly for long hours, seeking excellence in all that they do, hoping that someday you will trust them with the decisions of their own lives. You tax them into poverty, dictate to them what direction their lives will go, even what discipline their children will go into, and continue to stand on their necks.

"Well they are not idiots, nor are they sheep. They have a right to the vote. They have a right to say that you will no longer rule them with your arbitrary mandates, taking all that they do and all that they produce for your own selfish goals. And I have a right to take what love is offered from wherever it may come from!"

Jai-dim leapt up, too at that. "Blasphemy! She sleeps with the alien, and now she says the government that has kept the peace for thousands of years is useless! That we are irrelevant! She is inciting civil war, committing treason by even suggesting that our way of life and our government be abolished! She must die! We should have known that such a half-bred creature as she would not be able to rule responsibly. Her mother failed us when she produced this flawed thing before us! We were right to bar her from marriage or producing an heir! The Chehada line must be destroyed once and for all!"

"Then kill me! When you've martyred me, we'll see how these simple cattle feel about it! Go on, televise your civilized application of Ancient Law! Show them how merciful you really are!"

Members of Council jumped from their seats then. "She dies! And her alien lover dies with her!"

And this was the entanglement, although Grace's plan was not to lose her head on public television. It was, instead, to break ancient law and give the people their vote. She believed, whole-heartedly, that it was time for her people to be released from the bonds of this ancient and crippling rule. She had watched the television shows and documentaries, the political debates and listened to the schools until she knew that, if her people were ever going to be able to truly leap into the modern times of the civilizations around them, that they had to be allowed to think for themselves.

She had not, however, planned to involve Garrus. This was what shocked and horrified her. That Council actually said out loud that the alien could be executed next to her. Oh, no, he could not. They could not jeopardize the turian treaty by threatening the life of the _Second_. They could not go to war with the benefactors who were becoming more popular every day. There had not been an execution of anyone, let alone a state figure, in centuries. And if there was going to be one, by heaven and ancient Earth, she would go alone. They would not take Garrus, too, and she told them so. This was not his fight. It was hers, begun out of love for her people and for him.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

This night had been good. They were together from early afternoon, and all through the night, eating a bit, drinking a bit, laughing, making love. Playing a bit. Garrus had insisted that they have a ceremony in which they would be wed in the human manner. Although he could not wear a ring, he did give her one, placing it with the greatest care on her finger.

Earlier, before he joined her, Garrus had given Gavorn very specific instructions on what would be done upon his death and what would be necessary to transport his body back to Palaven, where he would be buried in the family crypt. His wife's braid would be placed with him. He believed that it would help him find her in the afterlife. This part worried him, because they were not the same species, he might not be able to find her. But the braid might help. He knew it was probably a vain gesture, but it was better than casting about in his pain. His captors, watching him carefully, observed that the alien seemed to have some modicum of civility as regarded burials and the hereafter. How quaint of them.

The Primarch had given the last of the orders to the turian contingencies: if the votes do not favor the Queen-Elect, then all turians would leave orbit and return home. He had reluctantly agreed not to declare war and also not to order Garrus back home, rather honoring his wish to die with his mate, a decision that the Primarch himself would have made, were the rolls reversed. This brave woman, who had helped his people with all her strength, and who had stolen Garrus' heart, had chosen to die for her cause rather than accept the political asylum that he had offered, knowing that these people who were so embarrassingly inept at space travel would never be able to retrieve her. She stayed, knowing that all the people who had backed her would suffer horribly should she run, and begged the turians not to declare war, but rather, go in peace, take what they had received for their survival, and not avenge her or the _Second._

That is, after she realized that she was never going to persuade him to leave when the rest of the delegates had left on turian shuttles to wait in orbit until the votes were done. Grace had begged, and even cried though she had sworn she wouldn't, but Garrus would not go. He flatly and calmly informed her that she would not endure this night, nor face the sword in the morning should the count not favor her, without him. He had to specifically instruct the little humans on how to actually kill a turian, beheading not being feasible with their limited weaponry and promising to become a hideously protracted endeavor without guidance. He'd had to give them the appropriate gun, and then had shown them where to put the muzzle, right where a human's ear would be, hold it steady, and pull the trigger without jerking. No, it would have to be at an upward angle or they would just shoot his jaw off, the bullet needed to go through his brain to kill him. And while they were taken aback by his calm and his insistence on the instruction, he explained as though to children that he had no intention of thrashing in agony at the hands of some utterly inept executioner who had never killed anything or anyone his life.

But their final wishes, which both Grace and Garrus had insisted on, was that their last night together be perfection. Once the final documents had been signed specifying that the turians would not declare war on K'Orsachea in the face of Garrus' decision, but would also never make contact with K'OrSachea again, business was finished. Should the people vote against Grace's right to chose and therefore their own rights to chose, or should the votes not make the necessary percentages, Grace and Garrus would go to a private courtyard, Grace would go first, Garrus insisting on that so that he could ensure it be done correctly and painlessly, and then he would go.

So convinced was Grace that the vote would not be sufficient to ensure her survival that she did not give any thought to what would happen should she win. If she won, it would mean that the people had in fact taken control of their own destinies; that the Old Rule was over and that there would be a new, free, democratic day on K'OrSachea. It would also mean that she was out of a job, which she would not have minded, if she had thought of that. But all she could think of for now was that she push away the horrific fear she felt and spend her last night alive in bliss with sweet, tough, practical Garrus.

His calm was the only thing that stood between her and the suffocating terror. She had never been around someone so at ease in the face of death, and it helped. And that was in fact his goal, no matter what, that she not spend her last hours in fear. He touched her tenderly, made love to her with breathless patience and insistence, made her laugh, refused to let her cry, and told her stories of the brave Commander Shepard, Liara, Tali and Jimmy Vega, though not stories of war, but rather the good times, talking for hours aboard the Normandy, or playing poker, or joking around with that fascinating person, Jeff, who was actually nicknamed 'Joker.' And while she slept, he went through the scenario in his mind again. In the quiet of the courtyard, before they could hurt her, Garrus would declare his war against these people. The news feed would be turned off. He had threatened them with unbridled violence if they had actually tried to televise something as grotesque as the bloody beheading of a beautiful young woman. And when the news feed was suspended, it would be unprecedented, hellish death for these monsters that would kill one small individual for trying to be free, and for trying to gain freedom for those around her.

Yes, indeed, these Elitists would die. The ones who didn't know that when a turian sounded like he was whistling meaninglessly, or clicking so softly as to almost be beyond hearing, that he was in fact communicating volumes to his subordinates. Gavorn knew as well, of course, but kept up appearances carefully, taking the long black braid respectfully, making note of quiet instructions as they were given.

He already had snipers in place, so practiced and so well trained that they were invisible, waiting to remove the threats. No civilians would die. None of her household staff, unless a guard tried to stop him from protecting his mate. Only the very specific targets which he laid out in detail to his men were to be killed. The only casualties would be these saboteurs of her plan for freedom. Then he would take her out of this place. There would be no reason for her to stay. Her people would be free, vote or not.

He could not tell her this plan, she might not be able to keep up the ruse, and he knew from past arguments that she would vehemently try to stop him, saying that it was too dangerous to too many people, and that it was her duty to be a martyr for her people, as their ruler, if that was what destiny decreed. To be the example that freedom was worth it, and was not free, if that was what must be. How was that different than any other soldier willing to give up his life for his cause?

But as soon as he could, he would relieve her fear. And avenge her years of pain.

Dawn came too soon. Garrus had returned to his suite to prepare. Turians had such different needs as pertained to their diets and rituals, that they needed their own sanctums. What they ate was toxic to humans, what they wore was designed superficially for their needs. These things would have required a great deal of space in her environment, and rather than interrupt her, Garrus preferred his own suite for his habits. And he was glad to have this space on this particular morning to ensure his plans were in place, as well as his men.

Grace bathed and dressed. She thought back to an historical piece she'd watched a few years earlier. Anne Bolyen… what did she say… ? Something… Something… and I have a small neck. Then she'd laughed. Grace cursed her failed memory. _Queen Anne was a much stronger person than I._

Her handmaidens helped her finish, although it was a bit of a messy affair, tears and fumbling being the biggest obstacles to the process. In the end, though, Grace was beautiful, wearing her obligatory blue gown and crown. Her long hair had been tied into a braid and cut short the day before. She had insisted. She didn't want the sword to make an uneven cut. When it was suggested she pull it up, somehow that just wouldn't do. After it was done, she realized that she had wanted a part of her to go back with Garrus to his home world, and that was the real reason it had been shorn. Her body would stay here, buried in a potter's field for her shame; which really meant the Elitists would have to hide her body in an unmarked grave to keep it from being opened and her body displayed as a martyr.

Grace walked down the hall toward a gathered crowd at the balcony. There seemed to be a disturbance of some sort. Safe within the carefully guarded cocoon that Garrus had built around them the night before, neither of them had been aware of anything outside the palace. Quickly the fragile shell of calm that she had erected around herself started to crack. She had no idea what might be outside and below, but she was sure she didn't want to know, didn't want another thing to jump out of the dark and attack, wakening her from the happy dream she had with Garrus.

But she forced herself to walk forward, her legs turning to lead. She saw Garrus there, tall and impressive, dressed in his beautiful uniform and light turian armor. The heavy armor, the one that made him look humpbacked, was not necessary today. He had explained to her that what looked like a humpback was integrated emergency life support and hostile environment gear that turians always wore on-board warships and in battle scenarios, expecting at any time to have the environment of their ships to be compromised. She'd laughed when he said that, at first, humans actually thought turians were humpbacked, or had some sort of prominent cowl. What he really had was a bulky array of plates at the top of his spine and across his shoulders. The plates, as they progressed down his back, were thinner and tapered. But no, there was no humpback as she had seen firsthand.

Now the krogen, he had explained, were in fact humpbacked, carrying up to a year's worth or more of nutrients in the thick fat there. _What's a krogen_, she had asked. When he had described them, she had responded, _oh, a giant talking iguana_… While he had no idea what an iguana was, he simply said he hoped to possibly introduce her to a few and let her decide for herself then. As she remembered the conversation, she thought, W_ell, guess I won't be meeting that individual that Garrus respected so much, the one with the strange name of 'Grunt,' or Eve, or even Wrex. _She pushed away the thought before it could distract her. No thoughts of krogen or any of those other wondrous creatures out there somewhere that she would never get the chance to meet.

No, the only armor for today was his official dress armor, blue and black, with his winged insignia. Two human guards flanked him. She wondered if they knew they would be helpless against him should he decide to attack. She suspected that, in fact, they did. Then a detail stood out suddenly. These were not Council guards. They were her guards. There were no Council here, no Elitists, no one outside of her personal entourage.

She moved closer. Finally she was able to see what they saw. And now, she realized why she had no guard with her. She had been curious about it, but obviously didn't to let someone know that…. Hey, she wasn't being guarded…... But now she knew… _really knew…_ why she'd had no escort. They thought she was still in there in her chamber. And that she saw what they saw from her own window. But she hadn't looked out, so caught up in her own thoughts she didn't think to.

There were hundreds of thousands of people out there. _Could it be millions?_ It looked like the entire population of K'OrSachea was at the gates of her palace. And they were all shouting for her.

Garrus turned and saw her. He went to her, and the guards didn't try to stop him. He lead her to the balcony, then bent low to whisper in her ear… _You won._ And with that, Grace St. Clair Chehada literally collapsed in weakness. Garrus caught her, helped her stand. The crowd cheered, and she saw tears, banners, flags of all the colonies. She suddenly realized, there are no Elitists here… Her guard at her right yelled over the noise, "Highness, the Council have all been arrested."

She turned to him, laughing and crying at the same time. "You don't have to call me Highness any more. We're free."


End file.
